"repositioned" poems
Movie credits descend and sink
to the bottom of the tv screen;
Admire the time travel of a blink,
repositioned on the bed, not keen
Expired pills; motivating my pulse
Hands shifting; trying to keep up
and end this life which by day gets worse
Free this defunct soul and succumb
And in that moment,
the silent tear that doesn't cease formation;
i have surrendered, time is in halt
The sadness salt, in a state of reconstitution,
But death wasn't part of the victory
She was another night of bedridden dreary
Pre-measured mentality
part anxiety
part agony;
retaining me as an emissary
to unearth my mystery
where do my nightmares trail?
who fogs my thoughts at night?
who tallies off my breaths?
So yes, those pills;
those expired ******* pills
did not give me the answer
Instead, i woke up to another whisper
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
Love was made on a level that only the stars above could discern.
My lips ensnaring yours, softly, but, aggressively
as the sweetness of lustful saliva lubricates
embracing you with my arms
I wish to fuse you and I together forever!
The natural expression of divine love that defines
the steamy procession that pursues the rawest display of our reciprocating affections
that moment of rewarding bliss as I enter you.
You, receiving me eagerly with your legs clutching me firmly.
One, we have become under the creator of all.
Early morning sunshine peeks through the window just to greet you,
but, only I can feel you close to me.
The angels have succumb to their envy of me
the celestials I must now fight
oh how they wish to be near you
I cannot lose you.
I love you.
There were those moments that I scoured space and time in search of you.
Breaking the mad tyrant’s gauntlet to confiscate the stones and crawling back to you on my shattered knees to rest at your feet,0
I will give everything that is good to you!
Yes, you!
Only you!
The sun incinerated my hands when I repositioned them to extend our particular solstice.
My reward was a prolonged winter
perpetual so that I could always cuddle with you.
You are God’s beautiful prose
the Creator’s presence is only visible through the essence of you.
You.
Jan 2, 2025
Jan 2, 2025 at 10:21 PM UTC
I was born in grave clothes
Raised in grave clothes
Unaware I even bathed in grave clothes
I didn't know the extent of my decay
Like the bones were expose in my face but I didn't have reflective glass to see my flesh
I was on a rotten path
Death would have been the only prize at the end of my race
Strongholds wrestled my thoughts and subdued my brain
Bone marrow deep I was linked to Adam
Lord knows I wasn't Abel
Dna tied to blood imprinted on the ground I had more in common with Cain
It's true a heart beat of sin causes death to course through vains
I wondered how could I be treated
Something was missing something was needed
To my shock it was Jesus
Clear! He got my heart beat right
With that resurrection power
Made my heart see light
He changed my life
I started to realize that the same power that raised Christ from the dead
Was the same power that lived in me
That does more than allow me to breathe .
It brings life back to limbs riddle with rigor mortis
It's reverses decomposition brings back what death has stolen
It's uncontrollable like a lighting storm.
It's unadulterated
Once it hits
It's changes landscape like when a nuclear warhead is detonated
Hoover dam generated power
Turbine engine spending power
Lift the dead out of sin power
Tectonic plate shifting, erecting mountains from plains power
By one name only can we be saved power
Second coming cracking the sky power
All knees shall bow and all tongues shall comply power
Corruptible turned into incorruptible in a instant power
Rebirth repositioned repurposed repented power
Turn what seems to be a lost into a win power
It is finish the precursor to the release of infinite power
I could never be the same because the spirit lives in me gives me power
My arteries are laced with a burning flame
A roaring wind, a groaning earth, a raging sea crashing waves
The impact of several elements crush the chains of a slave
It's the same power that said come forth Christ friend walks out the grave
The same power that moved the stone a borrowed tomb turned to a cave
It's the power of the Resurrection
In a world full of aborted life
It breeds conception
In a world that attempts to abort Christ
The church still cries out in reverence
Changed death for us now it's portal
Changed lives of stop watches into immortal
Resurrection power a glimpse into the eternal
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
I have been wearing a bracelet of green beads bought from a charity,
With a thin gray circular disc (a severe charm!) attached,
Upon which the word GROWTH in blunt font is raised.
And then, beneath that, what I assume to be
The symbol for GROWTH in the script of some dialect:
It looks like a roughly scratched “T,” somewhat like a dagger.
As I go throughout my day the circle brushes my wrist;
If it were sharper it could lightly cut the skin.
In odd moments I’ve shaken the beads and repositioned
The charm so it laid flat against the back of my hand,
As though I could absorb the sentiment.
It would be a little indulgent on its own,
But in the chaos of my current days I do it bemusedly.
Lately I have been thinking of how personalities encounter history
And are changed. Does the person shape history or does history
Shape the person? There has to be cosmic selection
At work for some—obviously Voltaire, for example, was made for the French, For the Enlightenment! But time breaks over all of us
Totally. Time shapes us interestingly. The craziness and force
Of everything I’ve brushed up against lately has surprised me,
And worn me down somewhat.
I was surprised, too, sliding on the bracelet for the first time,
when I saw the big green beads interrupted by
The charm's message.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
I could write about anything
and no one would stop and think.
Everything's been said before.
Rephrased and repositioned
to the point of impotency.
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 7:07 AM UTC
Authorised, Amplified
New, Living, Revised.
Is Greek needed
to depict God’s vision?
Can repositioned prepositions
confuse the divine?
Will mislaid iotas
smear godly wisdom?
Authorised, Amplified
New, Living, Revised.
The Truth’s been guarded
regardless.
Repositioned prepositions,
jots and iotas
all serve to convey sacred wisdom.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
i crouched
one knee to the floor and one up
facing god and his holy host
gasping for air and dribbling
knowing everyone that ive hurt indefinitely
wishing none of it was true
taking it back with tears
hoping "were alone now"
would ever be made honest
when the tune dies down
and the crust dries
on my high cheeks
something may have been developed
my mind anew
thoughts reconfigured
life repositioned
with imaginations like these
who needs
what are those called
cousins
no
the other ones
concerns
close enough
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
Secret lotteries will be held
Things will be decided
Underneath hanging prisons
atmospheric pressure adapts to gravitys constraints
This is who shall die
It was decided fairly
Tom
Sharon
Niel
And Garret
They will be informed
and procedings will commence imediately
Death hung on nails in the wood
Darkness cowered from the depths of hell
Frequency streams electrified infinity
Planets exploded then re-appeared in an instant
Warriors and monsters drank each others blood
Tom
You first
Grey
Sharon
Grey
Niel and Garret
You go together
Grey Grey
Repositioned particles bare no resemblance to their
former selves after an instant of infinity
The rest are safe now
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
Rainbows for chasing,
the moon for the aiming,
forming in clouds, faces
for inspiration,
beckoning, is life ahead
full of credible opportunity,
beside empty promises creating,
truthful reality.
Standing tall, girding *****
I, reached for the unreachable
so - distantly close, impulsive forward, surges.
without doubt,
or plan,
missing by the - conceivably smallest,
actually - furthest amount,
yet still moving through,
pushing the immovable, climbing
the inaccessible,
falling - frequently,
never reaching nethermost depth,
buoyed by a recognition,
realising - all this fighting - striving
failing - miserably,
doing it all - wrong,
was not failure, but a justified lesson
on coping in the mire of existence.
The rainbows beauty explained in science,
gives it simplicity. A reality water and sunlight,
nothing really to chase,
or catch.
Moon - oh moon - my most favourite, still my dreamstone,
is but a stark beautiful presence,
removing sunlight reveals a satellite bleak,
nothing is here to seek,
or take aim,
likewise our cloud perceived faces,
expectations are best - unexpected.
If controlled by endeavour and aquasition
disappointment may be somewhat - repositioned,
attainment of skills formerly devoid of utilisation
revived, re-given to make something, that in truth,
can be ameliorated.
if only to yours truly
.
Still Chasing Rainbows . Michael C Crowder 10th March 2019 @scorsby
Mar 13, 2019
Mar 13, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
Four seated
In a pizza place
Sharing a pizza
Cheesy and delicious
New York style
Talk between bites
Reaching for the Parmesan
The table slides
Hits one of them
Right in the gut
Pizza drops
Back on the paper plate
Grease splattering
Eyes wide
Heads turn
Bodies shift in their seats
To see the sound
Strange noise
From the little table
Table of four
Laughing it off
All things resume
They continue to eat
That greasy, cheesy pizza
Talk of life
Current events
Bites of pizza
Two slices left
Split and taken
Being eaten
When...
Slide
The table
So killer
Slides to one
Hitting their gut
Making them grunt
Pizza drops
Heads turn
Bodies shift
Movement from all about
The pizza place
Eyes fall upon them
Laughter
Then the table is fixed
Repositioned
Then the pizza
Cheesy and greasy
Is devoured
Talk goes on
All resumes
After a time
The four leave
Cleaning up their trash
And leaving behind
That killer table.
- Jay M
November 28th, 2019
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
It’s a comedy of errors…
the clowns and actors inside
When for two millennia,
they served to amuse and abide
The patriots and righteous
once made all the laws
But now the Halls of Congress
by their presence are flawed
Through political correctness,
the blind pretend that they see
With our future in peril,
they laugh at our pleas
A carnival sideshow
they make of the truth
As the press and the movies
back up what’s uncouth
They lie in our face
with the darkest of plans
Their excuses in concert
now leading the band
Like the rats in the cellar
and the bats in the barn
To the hills we must drive them
where they can do no more harm
And the power repositioned
among the brave and the wise
Who care first for their country
—keeping freedom alive
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
COLOR OF HAPPINESS
Approaching middle ground looking back,does a certain palate bring a smile
Perhaps pink or blue given to make us coo,rosy red cheeks telling a simple tale
Yellow sun taught as fun,sky not gray but brilliant blue,looking down for glowing green grasses not the dead earth perceived as vile
Red & white candy stripers a helping hand or holiday candy canes, uplifting, something to regale
A tank sits idle,clear water just mild ,but adding some life ,a few fins they shimmer
electric blue,neon green and a few gold fish brings new style
Pale empty pots take no position until repositioned with plenty of posy's ,without new shades all would be stale
Smiley face has no grace when seen in black & white ,more fun in sunny hues their fun faces will always inspire
Rainbow forming from gray is an instant show, making short work for a frown to grow helping to reshape our own profile
Every person takes a favorite ,each cause chooses another hue, brighter showing more view ,lesser tones blinding desire
Drink it in like a pretty party punch it's sweetness softens our affairs,will it help or change what we cast ,brighten a dull day make it worthwhile
So when do we refrain from hiding in shadows to basking in limelight ,taking in a moment of what is bright,Break through the whitewash to something we admire
R.C
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 6:35 AM UTC
Someone wakes up
Feeling the same way
Every day!
Their view isn't affected by mood
Chemical shifts
Love
Things learned
The cosmos repositioned their guts
Their feet feel like walking or no.
They remain attuned to the same thing.
I guess they are true.
Not me
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 3:42 PM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
Day breaks
a thousand different shapes
(an open door policy)
escape's impossible
probably.
possibly is my
redoubt
I cling to the Sun
(a loaded gun)
hide out in space
but
best face forward.
Onward
the light erupts
eyes engage.
Shapes,
this is it
irregular
but
some seem to fit.
I fit in,
repositioned,
tumblers falling into place
best face
forward.
In years to come
some will study
and
call it poetry
or
make mincemeat of me
I
don't care.
Mar 10, 2017
Mar 10, 2017 at 1:32 AM UTC
Pain is a past
And
Future portrait
Of what was
And what is
To come.
Beneath the muscles,
The bone; this phosphorous
Soul of mine teetering on the edge
Of extinction and anonymity,
There is a burning.
The sensation
Itself
Is faint. Pick up a jar
Of pickles to a lick
Of fire.
Bring a hand
To the cheek
Of the one I love,
And there is a kiss
Of fleeting ash.
Rollover
Play dead
No man passed
Cares
Whether they lived
At the end for
They are dead.
Legacy resides in pain.
Trauma, injury, is our
Paradigm for progress.
We desire hurtles.
Anything too easy
Will be repositioned,
Remodeled,
Retold to fit the prospectives
Narrative.
Are we not all seeking
To be the hero
In this story
Of ours?
Of humanities?
If so (you cannot deny it)
How will the future children
View your digital cave drawings?
How will they listen to your tales
Through air pods, podcasts, and
VR reinterpretations?
What secrets will they find
That you believed
You hid
So well?
Will you even care?
Will
They?
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 9:39 AM UTC